Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked
by Ninja Violinist
Summary: What if Lucifer the Adversary, the Abomination, the Assbutt, was Lucifer Morningstar? A series of short blurbs/vignettes/drabbles.
1. Unwelcome Tidings

**Author's Note** : Lucifer's sojourn on Earth canonically begins in 2011 (the series begins in 2016). I'm making the event 2005 for reasons.

* * *

 _2009_

* * *

Lucifer was expecting company.

He'd felt it like a punch in the face: a surge of energy and power that signified his return to archangel status. It meant a few things, none of them good.

The first was the death of Lilith, the first human soul he'd twisted into a demon. He had done it in a fit of pique after he'd been banished to rule Hell, sort of a temperamental "fuck you" to dear old Dad. See, Father? See how flawed these things you made are? Look how easily I can make them into something dark and evil. What gives you the right to tell us to bow down to these weak, insignificant apes?

But after a while, Lilith became sort of a embarrassment. Who wanted the proof of their stupid little tantrum thrown in their face day after day after day? After a millennia, Lucifer threw her into a box then threw that box into his basement, AKA the Pit, and promptly pretended to forget she existed.

What nutter had left her out? Azazel? He needed to have a word with—oh, no wait. Maze had reported that he was dead. Ah well.

Of course, with his power returned it meant that someone had revved the gas on the Apocalypse. It was irritating, really. After all, Lucifer had had Maze slice off his wings with the intention of keeping a low profile. Now the stupid things were back and no amount of hacking or slicing the demon did would remove them.

It also meant that _Michael_ was probably looking to touch down sometime soon. Sanctimonious, uppity, tight-assed prick.

"They're out again," Mazikeen said, amused.

"I _realize_ that," Lucifer said irritably. The damn feathered things just wouldn't stay tucked! He turned towards her and knocked over several bottles of expensive whiskey. "Bloody hell!"

"I could go get the chainsaw."

"No, thank you. At least not until our guests have left. We wouldn't want to be impolite and splatter them with gore, now would we?"

Fed up with his unruly appendages, Lucifer sat on the only chair that had no backing; his piano stool. As he plucked a few keys, Maze kept an eye on the elevator door. She flipped her prized, Hell-forged blades around her fingers. "You know those won't kill an angel," Lucifer admonished.

"Yeah, I know," she replied. Her mask of insouciance slipped a bit to reveal a touch of panic. "But it makes me feel better to hold them."

 _Ding_.

He expected another archangel, or perhaps one of those high-ranking fellows so eager to lick their big brothers' boots. Not this bleeding, beaten mess! The angel toppled, half in and half out of Lucifer's private elevator, without saying a word.

"Bloody hell," the devil cursed as he rushed to his brother's side. For once, his wings listened and folded tight around his body, giving Lucifer the room to pull the other angel from the entryway. He turned him over. "Castiel."

"Help," groaned the angel. "Please."

"Who is this?" Mazikeen wondered as she approached.

"One of the little foot soldiers in Father's army." Lucifer examined his brother from head to toe. "This was quite the beatdown, wasn't it?"

"Raphael," muttered Castiel.

"Middle children are always the more unstable ones." Two fingers to the angel's forehead and Lucifer's little bro was whole again. "There. Mind telling me why Raphy would try to obliterate all of your internal organs?"

Castiel groaned and propped his back against the bar. "I tried to stop it." He eyed Mazikeen warily as she peered over the counter.

The demon licked her lips. "That is one _tasty_ vessel you found there."

"Maze!" Lucifer exclaimed, perturbed.

"Mmm… there are _so_ many things I can do with that body."

As Castiel inched away from the demon, Lucifer pinched the space between his eyes. "Well, now that I'm thoroughly nauseated, why ever did you come here?"

The angel hung his head. "I have been… cut off from Heaven. I deigned to interfere and now I am deemed an apostate." Castiel looked at his brother. "Like you."

"Ah." That would explain it. The rebellious needed to stick together, after all. Lucifer stuck his hand out and helped his brother to his feet. "Well, you can stay here a while if you truly like. Plenty of room."

"Or he could stay with me," purred Mazikeen.

Castiel's face conveyed pure panic. "Um. No thank you. I must go."

The ridiculous looking trench-coat his vessel wore fluttered as Castiel's midnight wings expanded from his back. Before he could go, however, Lucifer put his hand on the angel's shoulder and steered him away from the demon. "Look, Cassie," the devil said quietly, "I'm not interested in this… _Apocalypse_ thing happening. I promise." Castiel nodded warily. "Therefore, you need help making this go away, I'll do what I can."

The blue-eyed angel gave his big brother a small smile. "Thank you." A rush of air and feathers and Castiel was gone.

"End Times coming?" Mazikeen asked.

"Seems so."

The demon stared darkly out at the Los Angeles skyline. Lucifer knew that despite Maze's constant bitching, she didn't want to see humanity obliterated. At the very least, she didn't want society to fall; there was too much fun to be had.

Maze poured out two scotches and slid one over to Lucifer. He took a sip. "We might not be able to sit this out."

"Great," the demon groused. They drank in companionable silence for a few minutes. "Your brother's a virgin, isn't he?"

"Seems so."

"Someone should relieve him of that."

Lucifer plunked his empty glass down. "I'm going downstairs to the club."

"Why?"

"Because I need a lot of sex, drugs, and alcohol to get the brain-stabbing imagery of you with my little brother out of my head!"

The elevator closed behind the devil. Mazikeen was worried, but what could she do? Therefore, the demon pushed thoughts of the Apocalypse aside in order to plan the naked, thorough debauchment and defilement of a black-haired, blue-eyed, angel.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : There's no extended plot or anything going on here. Just a bunch of random vignettes crossing Lucifer and Supernatural. I guess you could call it "somewhat sort of procedurals in a LuciSuperVerse." I plan on popping them up whenever the notion strikes. Hope you enjoy!


	2. Revelations

(11/19/2018) Thank you **FireSenshi2** and **Faeyre** for the reviews!

* * *

 _2005_

* * *

Sam caught the ice pack the rather temperamental bartender had quite literally thrown at him and pressed it to his cheek.

The last of Lux's patrons were being hurried out, though a good number did their best to try and gawk at the destruction. Sam hadn't meant to start a brawl. It just somehow happened. Nevertheless, he wasn't sure how he was going to pay the owner back for the broken chairs and tables and glasses, not to mention the spilt liquor. Maybe he could contact Dean…

No, out of the question. Contacting Dean would get the attention of dad which would lead to who knows what kind of conflict. He hadn't spoken to either of them in years and he was certain bailing him out of a financial crisis was not going to be a priority.

The hunter-turned-student peered about and cursed under his breath. Brady had somehow slipped into the crowd and abandoned him. This whole "Get Brady Back on Track" mission was going horribly wrong.

Sam had driven nearly eight hours for, it seemed, absolutely nothing. Jess had told him, slightly panicked, that a bored Brady had taken off in the middle of class, calling out the name of a posh Los Angeles club and inviting anyone who wasn't afraid to party hard to join him. Surprisingly, a few did. They'd apparently climbed into Brady's new convertible (where he'd gotten the money for _that_ , who knew) and sped off south to indulge. By the time Sam had gotten to Lux, Brady was nose deep in some woman's cleavage where a mound of cocaine was nestled. When Sam had tried to get him to see reason, Brady had swung a fist. Things had deteriorated from there.

Now Sam was sitting at the bar waiting to be arrested or yelled at or whatever by the owner, a man ridiculously named _Lucifer Morningstar_. What sort of idiot took the name of the devil as his own when there were real demons out there just waiting to pounce? Maybe the guy had a death wish.

Sam jumped as the doors slammed shut and said idiot strolled over. He stood up and had the rare luxury of being able to gaze at someone straight in the eye. "Hey, look—"

"Save it," Lucifer snapped. "First of all, how the bloody hell did you get in here?" The man gestured up and down at Sam's current attire. "I know for certain the doorman wouldn't have let you in the front looking like _that_."

Lucifer's scorn forced Sam to reign in his temper. After all, Sam was the one at fault for this whole mess. However, it wasn't _his_ fault that the only things in his wardrobe were t-shirts, hoodies, and jeans. "Does it matter?"

"You're damn right it matters!" The man's posh English accent made every disdainful word seem even worse. "There's a strict dress code here, you know, despite the pretty little face you've got going on here. I need to know if my club has some… security breach or whatnot!"

As Sam had picked the locks on the service entrance, the truth was rather condemning. He tried to deflect the question. "Look, sir, I want to apologize for causing a disturbance. It won't happen again."

"Well, that's a given. What in the world were you even trying to accomplish? _Tell me_."

Sam struggled for a moment to think of a credible lie. Then, much to his surprise, he found himself blurting out, "I'm trying to save my friend. He's been on this downward spiral and I don't know why."

"Huh." Sam found himself being scrutinized, and not in a bad way. Then Lux's owner frowned. "A goody-two-shoes, are you?" Lucifer sneered, obviously unwilling to take Sam's explanation at face value. "Or was this just some tiff between you and the cocaine fiend?"

The temper he'd been trying to bottle finally got loose. "Look, man. I told you the truth. Now are you going to call the cops or can I go?"

"Oh, dear boy. Not just yet. Tell me, _what do you desire_?"

Again, much to his dismay, Sam's instinctive move to obfuscate was shunted aside. After struggling for a few moments with his words, the young man quietly and stiffly said, "For my dad to accept that who I am is not what he wanted me to be."

Both men stared at each other, aghast. For Sam, the words brought roaring to the surface the loneliness and misery that had plagued him ever since he'd abandoned both his father and his brother. For Lucifer… well. "Go."

"What?"

"Go. _Shoo!_ And don't let me catch you in here dressed like that again."

Rather than question his good fortune, Sam put the ice pack on the counter and hurried out the front door. After this mess, Brady could look after himself. It was past time he returned to Palo Alto.

* * *

Lucifer poured himself a shot and stared miserably at the wall. _For my dad to accept that who I am is not what he wanted me to be._ How could it be possible that some random kid could put what Lucifer had felt for eons in such a succinct sentence? It didn't make any sense.

Then again, what he'd felt in flowing in Sam Winchester's veins was perhaps why he felt such kinship with him. _Demonic essence._ Something was terribly wrong with the boy, and Lucifer was apprehensive over what that meant for his own future. He couldn't quite remember why, however. It had to do with Azazel and some nuns…

Oh well. He'd remember later. In the meantime, Lux looked like it was going to be an excellent venue for his foray into earthly pleasures. Until dear old Dad decided to come himself to drag him back to Hell, Lucifer was going to have himself a wondrously sinful time.


	3. Yellow

(12/15/2018) Hurry up Netflix. I need to binge watch Lucifer again.

Thank you **Faeyre** and **FireSenshi2** for the reviews!

* * *

 _1972_

* * *

Azazel closed his eyes beatifically in front of the sullied altar.

He had waited so long for this day, for this singular moment, when the planets aligned _just right_ and the denizens of Heaven and Hell were otherwise distracted by… whatever nonsense they got up to. A Prince had no time to be looking into those sorts of things. "Father, look," Azazel uttered through the priest, "I'm not exactly the praying type, but still. I made the sacrifice. I got you a bagful of nuns. So, uh… can you hear me?" Nothing. Perhaps he'd picked the wrong time. "Can you whisper through the door?"

The nun he'd tossed onto the altar gave a great gasp. She twisted around, her spine wrenching in unnatural angles, before sitting upright on top of a pool of her own blood. Then, in a voice clouded by centuries of forced servitude, of having had to witness the fiery depravities of the deepest depths of Hell, colored by a swirling concoction of celestial energy and righteous wrath, asked…

"Was this mess really necessary?"

Azazel blinked a few times. "I'm sorry?"

"All these bodies! Good grief. At least back in the day the sacrifices were made neat and tidy on a stone slab or something."

"I apologize, Father." He hadn't thought the destruction would be _that_ offensive. After all, Lucifer himself doled out similar punishments in Hell to those that deserved it.

Oh. There was the mistake.

"And you should!" Lucifer chastised as the nun's eyes flared red. "All these holy women dumped on my doorstep, bleating and crying and making all sorts of fuss. Do you know I had to call on one of my siblings to come pick them up and get them where they belong? He's going to hold _that_ above my head for an eon!" The nun's body slipped down the altar to land on her feet. She walked forward and stabbed a finger into Azazel's chest. "Next time, _think_ before you act."

Sure, maybe the demon had gone a little overboard slaughtering the convent. "At the very least, Father, the priest should please you."

"Hm. You're right on that one. Sickening fellow." Lucifer gave a long-suffering sigh. "But enough of that. I know the Gates of Hell are sealed, so hurry along now and tell me why you bothered with this nonsense."

Azazel decided to change tactics. Perhaps it was time for a little flattery? "It's so _good_ to hear your voice, Padre. The others have lost faith. _Dickless heathens_. But not me."

"Well, thank you!" The nun's bloodied face split grotesquely with a happy grin. "It's very much appreciated."

Good. Now Lucifer was listening, not chastising. "So, uh… how do I bust you out?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Get you topside?" When he received nothing but raised eyebrows, the Prince of Hell blinked. "You know, Hell on Earth? Get this whole Apocalypse ball rolling."

"Whatever for?"

Azazel was dismayed, but only for a moment. Perhaps the archangel merely needed a reminder. "It's… It's what you charged me with! The time is _right_ , my lord. There are children just waiting to be harvested. We can make it happen—"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"Have you gone hard of hearing? I said _no_."

 _No_. Eons on Earth waiting and pandering and moving the right pieces here and there, killing that guy and that kid to make this happen and Lucifer was saying _no_. "If I'm wrong and we should wait," Azazel said with gritted teeth, "I will wait."

Lucifer rolled the nun's eyes and let loose an exasperated groan. "No no no, just cancel the whole thing. Really, it's all a bit of nonsense Dad dictated to Michael _millenia_ ago and I'd rather not indulge in _that_ particular brother's whims."

"But—"

A flash of red from the dead sister's eyes was all the warning Azazel received. Her fingers stiffened and the Prince fell to his knees, choking. "I said," Lucifer snarled, " _no_."

"Yes," the demon eked out. "Yes, Father."

"Good." Lucifer relaxed the nun's hand and Azazel was released. His palms hit the floor as he coughed, but when a pair of sensibly cheap shoes appeared out of the corner of his eye the demon did his best to stifle the sounds. "Don't forget," Lucifer hissed, "I allowed you to go up. Unless you want back down here, _obey_. I hear Mazikeen still hasn't forgiven you."

Azazel swallowed nervously. Hell's most brutal torturer had a long, long memory, and apparently kept her grudges sacred. "I understand, my lord."

"Good!" Lucifer repeated, this time in a far more jovial manner. "Well, be seeing you. And no more nuns!" A flash of red in the sister's eyes signaled the devil's departure. Her body collapsed bonelessly to the floor.

This was bad. Very, very bad. It was obvious, at least to Azazel, that his beloved Father was suffering from ennui, or perhaps just simple apathy. Why else would Lucifer have _canceled_ the Apocalypse? It was all he'd talked about for centuries, the archangel's greatest desire: to remake Earth in his own image. Demons would roam free, the angels would be slaughtered, and mankind would be theirs to toy with. This denial of Lucifer's was absolute madness!

The other Princes had given up. Asmodeus, Ramiel, Dagon; insufferable betrayers. Not him. No, Azazel was _loyal_. It was up to him to remind the devil of his role in the world. Yes. A loyal son would make sure his father's work continued, even if said father had abandoned it.

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode, "Lucifer Rising" (SPN 4.22).


	4. Swan Dive

(12/18/18) Leave me a little comment and I'll consider it a Christmas present ;)

Thank you **FireSenshi2** for the review!

* * *

 _2010_

* * *

Lucifer was face to face with Michael for the first time in eons and the sight filled him with wretchedness.

All of the archangels had white wings. Lucifer's were a pure white, a mockery, perhaps, of what the other angels called his "betrayal." Gabriel's had filaments of color, almost indiscernible unless you spotted them in a certain light, suitable for both the youngest and the most mischievous of the archangels. Raphael's, in accordance with his stark views of right and wrong, were tipped in black.

Michael's were simply _beautiful_.

While Lucifer's shone a pure, unadulterated white, Michael's were pearlescent, gleaming, as close to perfection as Father could make them. They had been the envy of every angel in Heaven. Others had coveted his feathers, keepsakes to be squirreled away so that one could pull them out when in need of comfort. Yes, they were unquestionably beautiful, awe-inspiring, terrifyingly perfect…

And looked so very, very wrong coming off the back of Sam Winchester.

The plan they'd come up with had seemed so simple. Sam would say "yes" to Michael in lieu of Dean; after all, as Lucifer himself had pointed out, they both had the blood of John Winchester. The difference, the _important_ difference, was what Azazel had wrought, a demonic taint that would hopefully weaken the eldest archangel enough for Sam to take control so Lucifer could toss him into Hell. Crowley, hopefully, was waiting by the doorway to the underworld's second-most secure cell (since the _most_ secure currently had a permanent resident) and would shut it as soon as Michael had fallen in.

They had tried other ways first. Castiel had begged their eldest brother to have pity on humanity. Lucifer had tried to show Michael how absolutely delightful the pleasures of the flesh were. Sam had tried to get him to see how Lucifer had changed, that it was no longer necessary to destroy him as had been ordained all those eons ago. However, Dean, who had tried to derail the plan at every step, was stuffed into Bobby Singer's panic room in order to keep Michael's true vessel from doing anything stupid.

When Michael, in the decaying body of a man named Nick, refused to listen, they had come up with the current plan. Oh, sure, there had been little issues, like how to open a portal to Hell and Dean's unwillingness to let go of his brother, but the end everything had been ironed out.

Of course, nothing went as planned, and now they were here at Stull Cemetery staring at one another; one wrathful and one penitent brother with the fate of the world in their hands.

"We don't need to do this," Lucifer said quietly.

"I know," Michael replied.

"Then why the bloody hell are we here?"

"Oh, you know why! I have no choice, after what you did."

"What I… Oh, for goodness sake! I was punished, remember? Me being forced to rule over Hell and listen to humanity whine and bleat for thousands and thousands of years? Can't we just let bygones be bygones?"

"I'm sorry, I can't do that. I'm a _good_ son, and I have my orders."

"But you don't have to follow them."

The sympathetic frown on Sam Winchester's face twisted into a grimace of disgust. "I'm not like you. We were together. We were happy. But you betrayed me and you made our father _leave_."

Such an oversimplification. Sure, Lucifer had led a rebellion and gotten a lot of his kin killed and God _had_ up and left right afterwards, but, really, could anyone blame him? Asked to bow down to these humans, hah! He'd been carousing around Earth for only several years, but the amount of willful sin and indulgence he found was almost abhorrent. Almost. Mostly it was just fun.

"Please, brother," Lucifer tried once more.

Michael's fists clenched in preparation, his brother's pleas nothing more than noise to be ignored. Reluctantly, Lucifer prepared to fight while at the same time making certain Sam Winchester's body wasn't permanently damaged. The devil had made a promise; he would keep it. Besides, there were so many things he had to do! Dying at Michael's hands would be a terribly premature end to Lucifer's excursion.

Then the rumble of that thrice damned Impala filled the air and Lucifer knew this was going to be a complete catastrophe.


	5. Oedipus Mess

(8/22/2019) This one has been sitting around, but hopefully it works.

Thank you **CrimsonQueen24, Tatsandacat,** and **Zeppiel** for the reviews! And I don't think Mystery Guest # 1 read the prompt, and # 2: I didn't realize I was bashing Dean. Again.

* * *

 _2016_

* * *

When Lucifer's mother strolled into the police precinct in a languid manner, he knew something absolutely foul had occurred. "Lucifer," she said, a crooked smile on her borrowed features.

"Mum," he replied through a tide of rising nausea. "Dare I ask why you're intruding at my workplace?"

"Oh, I have a client here that your detective has dragged in for questioning."

From his perch on Detective Decker's desk, Lucifer glanced back and forth from the Goddess to the LAPD's interrogation room. "That scum is your client?"

"Apparently. Vile little cockroach, but in this case he's truly innocent. My client does not eat the hearts of his victims."

"Well, small favors I suppose."

"Miss Richards," Detective Decker said coldly as she returned to her desk. "I'm assuming George Pine is in there waiting for you. Agents, Charlotte Richards. Charlotte, Agents Murdock and Nelson."

With great effort Lucifer prevented himself from blurting out the real names of the two cheaply-dressed "FBI" agents standing before him. This wasn't the first time the Winchesters had invaded his space and it most likely wouldn't be the last. What was far more galling, however, were the looks being exchanged between Mother and Dean. Lucifer shuffled himself so that their line of sight was broken. "Why the bloody hell are y—the _FBI_ here?"

"We've been following a pattern of similar murders around LA and San Diego," Sam answered smoothly.

"Feds want first crack at Mr. Pine," Decker explained. "I told them it was all of us together or not at all."

"Fair enough," Lucifer said distractedly. Mother was peering over his shoulder. Her eyes had turned seductive; Dean's more flirtatious.

"Let's get this over with. Lucifer? Lucifer? Hello, Lucifer?"

Sam and the detective began heading towards the interrogation room. Lucifer followed, slowly, and was thus privy to the conversation between the remaining parties. "So, lawyer, huh?" Dean asked.

Mother made an agreeable noise. "For now, at least."

"Gotta say, didn't expect to find you here."

"Quite the same, Agent… Nelson. Although," the Goddess said as she lowered her voice down to a sultry whisper, "such a shame we're on opposite sides for this case. Your technique is _breathtaking_."

"You think so, huh?" Dean said quietly. "Well, I've got plenty more tricks up my sleeve."

"Hold on, hold on!" Lucifer cried. He swiveled on his heel and held his hands up in front of their faces. "What, by Dad, is going on here?"

Dean, taken aback, merely said, "What's your problem?" while Mother simply declared, "We had sex last night."

While the hunter stared at her, aghast, Lucifer repeated, "You had sex."

Charlotte's head bobbed in affirmation. "Yes. Last night."

"You two. Had sex."

"Several times. He's got remarkable stamina."

"What's your issue, dude?" Dean groused. "Are you two…?"

"No!" both otherworldly beings exclaimed. In a sibilant hiss, Lucifer clarified, "That is my _mother_!"

Confused, the elder of the Winchesters glanced back and forth between the Devil and who he had assumed was merely a tall, extraordinarily good looking, superbly flexible bar pickup. Despite knowing how temperamental, and how powerful, Lucifer was, Dean couldn't help himself from saying, "Well, your mom's got a great ass."

* * *

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?" Sam asked George Pine. It was obvious they were dealing with a werewolf, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

The rattled college student, who had encountered the creature on his evening jog, said, "You won't believe me. None of _them_ believe me," he clarified, gesturing at Detective Decker, "why should you?"

"Well, I'm part of an, um, special branch."

It was only for a moment, but Sam saw the suspicious glance Decker threw his way. He wracked his brain for a more plausible explanation while Pine began his rambling, bro- and dude-laden explanation regarding what Sam knew was a werewolf on the UCLA campus. Before he could say anything further, however, there was a knock on the interrogation room door.

Detective Espinoza (or Detective Douche, as Lucifer unfondly referred to him as) peeked his head in. "Uh, Detective? Agent? We may have a problem out here."

An altercation was clearly brewing, and both Sam and Chloe recognized the perpetrators. Clearly Dean had done something to antagonize Lucifer. Again. While they had long ago established that the archangel was on their side, it still meant they disagreed from time to time. The problem was the disparity in power, a fact that they often forgot when encountering the unapologetically unangelic angel.

Case in point: when the pair rushed outside of the room it was to find Lucifer holding Dean up against the wall next to Decker's desk, her things strewn hither and yon by their struggles. "You even _look_ at her again," the devil snarled, "I will rip off your genitals and stuff them up your own ass!"

"Hey, she came on to me," Dean countered. "It ain't my fault you got some Oedipus thing going on!"

The faux FBI agent and the blonde detective looked at one another, exasperated. "You take mine and I'll take yours?" Sam offered.

"Sounds good to me," Chloe replied.

A bewildered, bruised Dean was eventually separated from Lucifer. The werewolf developed a fatal case of silver bullet poisoning, and Detective Decker was left none the wiser. However, it would be a long, long time before Sam would let his brother forget the one night stand he'd had with the devil's mother.


	6. Preview: Ain't No Rest for the Wicked II

(12/26/2019) This is a short preview of Ain't No Rest for the Wicked v2.0. Soon as I get a full first chapter, it'll be up! Because, you know, I totally don't have 3 other fics running right now that should get attention (but right now I'm thinking about Tom Ellis' butt).

* * *

About five billion years ago, God said, "Let there be light!"

But the Darkness said, "Fuck that."

So God and his five children (Michael, Amenadiel, Samael, Raphael, and Gabriel) tricked her and locked her up. Creation was allowed to flourish, and God and His wife, the Goddess, made Earth. On it was life: animals, plants, microorganisms. However, God wanted His creatures to have _intelligence_ and self-awareness, which none of these wondrous things had.

Leviathans were a mistake. He had to make a new dimension just to contain them.

The Goddess gave birth to angels. They were _almost_ perfect. "Almost" being the operative word. Too subservient, too focused. However, the archangels, their big brothers, found them pleasing. God let them have each other in another new realm: Heaven.

And then God created Man after Himself; a free thinking species, capable of both good and evil, creatures that could be prodded to go here and there and still retain a sense of autonomy. It was as close to perfection, to Him, as could possibly be made.

So God commanded His angels to love these new things, these _humans_ more than Himself. They were His ultimate creation, and His children should shelter and guide them.

And his third son said, "Fuck that."

About four and a half billion years ago, the archangel Samael decided to stage himself a little rebellion. Well, not so little, as it threw Heaven and all its celestial inhabitants into Civil War. Really, how could he have known so many of his brothers and sisters were willing to take up arms to defend their stance? It was merely a disagreement, honestly, over whether or not they should love their Father over those paltry meatsacks He'd dumped on Earth. It wasn't _Samael's_ fault that the others were unwilling to listen to reason.

Besides, even _Mother_ agreed with him.

Unfortunately, Samael's forces lost. Dad was both displeased and heartbroken. Most of those who sided with the disobedient abomination repented and were allowed to stay in the Silver City. Those few who refused became Fallen and, eventually, were forced to live and die as mortals. Their angelic DNA passed on through future generations and gave their descendants the ability to access what humans would eventually call "magic".

For Samael, however, the punishment was to be far more severe. He was laughingly rechristened Lucifer, the Light-Bringer, before Michael escorted him into the darkest of the realms.

Hell.

There Lucifer was sentenced to reign, forced to oversee the _worst_ that humanity had to offer. After Mother had Her own little temper tantrum _She_ was eventually thrown down into the Pit. It was as if God had decided Hell was His toilet; after all, that's where He had apparently decided to dump the _shit_ of His existence.

If that's how it was going to be then, well, then it was time to clog the pipes.

Under Father's nose Lucifer manipulated humans into becoming the Lilim, or those that would one day be called "demon", with the help of Adam's first wife. Lilith, the lovely woman, was quite willing to guide the first of these creatures: Alistair, Azazel, Mazikeen. Alas, when Heaven's emissaries came to investigate the origins of these evil creatures Lucifer was sorry to tell them poor Lilith had had an accident. She'd tripped and fallen into a deep hole near Mother's cell and, whoops, couldn't be retrieved. Quite a shame that no one would be able to interrogate her over the whole affair. Besides, human souls were becoming demons on their own the longer they lingered in Hell, and _that_ was certainly no fault of Lucifer's.

That had been a bright spot, but after thousands of years the Ruler of Hell got bored. He was banned from Heaven, Purgatory was the same thing over and over again, and those other versions of reality Father had created were mostly… unpleasant. Nothing else to do but take a casual foray up to Earth.

Lucifer discovered humanity had gotten _interesting_. Conflict! Art! Food! Of course, as soon as he'd really started having fun Amenadiel was dispatched to haul him back to Hell. Spoilsport.

Despite his big brother's persistence, Lucifer still managed to hop topside a few more times. He convinced Imhotep to design a grand triangle for his emperor's tomb rather than a mundane square. Wu Zetian knew how to make some excellent conversation and the _best_ tea. Really, Lucifer told her, she was smart enough to take the throne once that pestilent husband of hers was gone. The Black Plague had been gross (but fascinating). Genghis Khan was a hoot. The 1970s were particularly groovy.

But then he got bored again.

Besides, it was the twenty-first century as humans measured things, and they'd named one of their less loathsome areas the "City of Angels"! Seemed like a marvelous starting point.

A few favors cashed (including one from Amenadiel and another from John Constantine, the bloody bastard) and Lucifer was set up quite nicely for an extended stay. It was absolutely _wonderful_. Indulge! Indulge! Indulge! Drugs, women, men, fine food, fine drink… the party was never going to stop.

Then someone rang the bell on the Apocalypse and suddenly things were no longer _fun_.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Hello! So I'm shoving Supernatural into Lucifer this time. Most of the story will take place in Lucifer-land with a sprinkling of Supernatural here and there. It doesn't have much to do with my other work, so ignore any canon previously established. I'm also going to borrow from each mythos however I want so… yeah.


	7. Hello!

Hello! This fic is officially "complete." Lucifer's tale is now over in **Ain't No Rest For the Wicked II**. Hope to see you there!


End file.
